


Five times Donatello felt lesser than, and once he was made to feel equal

by celestialcass



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Donnie, Brotherly Love, Donatello (TMNT) Needs a Hug, Donatello-centric, Donnie is a soft shell, Donnie is insecure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt Donatello (TMNT), Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, no Tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialcass/pseuds/celestialcass
Summary: Donatello has a lot of issues connecting to others emotionally; as well as some big reservations around the way he is treated because of his soft shell.-"It wasn't hard to understand why- Dad had pulled him aside once or twice to explain how to socialize after Donnie had royally embarrassed himself trying to interact with someone. His kind eyes did nothing to soften the blow of telling his son that normally people didn't explain their special interests in excruciating depth at the slightest indication of interest.Of course the only way he could relate to other people is tech. If he engineered devices for others, maybe he could prove his usefulness and also give himself some way to talk to them without doing it wrong.But even then, his gifts were not often wanted or his effort accepted as well-meaning."
Comments: 19
Kudos: 157





	1. just a prototype

1\. the prototype

* * *

It was just a prototype. Still, it had taken multiple weeks to design and implement the theories he had been working on, and therefore Donnie thought he had a right to be frustrated.

The R.O.V.E.R. had been a auto-retrieving system for weapons during chaotic fights. Perhaps a turtle would get a sword or bo staff knocked away from them and be unable to locate it quickly, and R.O.V.E.R. would find and return the weapon to the turtle in an efficient and useful fashion. It could also be used as a handy way to re-arm the turtles if they were captured without weapons, or held in a separate area to their weapons. It used a series of flying scanners and grabbing claws to- oh, what was the point of thinking over the dead project.

Raph had stumbled into Donnie's lab shouting about a haunted sewer pipe and when he turned and gestured wildly down the hall, his humongous spiked shell knocked R.O.V.E.R. off the table it had been charging on. 

"-and it echoed like six times! Donnie, I'm tellin' ya, it- oh.. oops." Raph turned back at the noise of the machinery hitting the ground with force, shattering the glass and the thin fan blades that took hours of sculpting. R.O.V.E.R. lay on the ground, fizzling electricity briefly before snuffing out in a very premature death. His look of shock turned quickly to a sheepish expression, and a large hand came up to scratch behind his head. "Was that.. important?"

Donnie carefully took in the scene.

Frustration immediately stabbed at him, looking at R.O.V.E.R. who was now completely wasted time. He had used all of the money he had budgeted for this month on prime parts for it, given the advanced A.I. systems and directional pathing that had been required for the project. He had carefully sculpted each part needed out of a titanium alloy and fit them together in an intricate and beautiful result of machinery. It was the working version of a much grander, city-wide project he had wanted to finish in the next few months.

Without R.O.V.E.R., it was unlikely to be completed anytime soon. Perhaps the project was not his magnum opus, but it had been important to him for the last few weeks. 

"Not.. that much. It isn't the end of the world, Raph. Just try to be more careful." Donnie huffed out, though internally he wondered if Raph considered any of his projects important.

If any of his brothers did.

He didn't want his brother to feel bad about it though, he hadn't meant to break it and maybe this situation was dire enough to warrant a little property damage in lieu of injuries.

Raph breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good! Anyways, the sewer is haunted! You gotta come, Mikey-"

"RAPH! DONNIE! HELP!!" Mikey's shrill screams could be heard down the hall, getting closer and closer. 

Donnie grabbed his staff and slipped his goggles down to cover his eyes, motioning to Raph to come with him to meet the danger. He could worry about his project later. It wasn't important to anyone but him anyway.


	2. prototype of a person

2\. prototype of a person

* * *

Sometimes Donnie felt like a prototype of whoever he was supposed to be.

He was like the sad precursor to an actually functional person who could interact with the world freely and without discomfort and constant confusion.

Shouldn't he be able to communicate like everyone else? He barely felt like a person when these situations happened.

Sure, it would start out fine. Maybe he was with April, or with his brothers, or even occasionally up in the human world in disguise. There was something about interacting with another person that felt like trying to talk through a thin film- like he could never quite understand exactly what they wanted from him or what the purpose of the conversation was. 

Maybe April would make a comment about hating a part of her job stocking shelves, because she couldn't reach the top without getting a ladder. Donnie understood this sentence as both a statement of a problem; that of April being too short to do a necessary part of her job without outside help or tools, and also a prompt for possible solutions.

And of course, Donnie was a solution-maker. So he would pull an all-nighter before April's next shift, welding and shifting parts into place to make her some shoes that could extend several feet automatically when needed, giving her both efficiency and less reliance on the store's ladders.

However, upon the attempted gifting of these shoes, April said that Donnie was patronizing her. She insisted she could manage herself and didn't need his help, and Donnie was left helplessly confused.

What had he been meant to do?

How was one to react to problems if not by responding with solutions in kind?

After these interactions, there was a period of reflection, Donnie combing through his memories, trying to find where he went wrong or said the wrong thing.

Where he had made himself into someone who was less necessary, or less loved.

It was hard to admit, but he knew it when he saw it. A comment here or there noting how he was either a second or third favourite brother, never first. A look from one of his brothers when he was explaining his tech, one that told him none of them cared about the finer details and would prefer if he just stopped rambling and did his thing with the tech silently. 

It wasn't hard to understand why- Dad had pulled him aside once or twice to explain how to socialize after Donnie had royally embarrassed himself trying to interact with someone. His kind eyes did nothing to soften the blow of telling his son that normally people didn't explain their special interests in excruciating depth at the slightest indication of interest. That kind of behavior, though natural and easy to Donatello, was abhorrent in normal society.

Of course this would limit what kind of interactions Donnie felt that he could have. He felt as though he couldn't interact as himself, more as a more presentable mask of himself. The next, more socially successful version of himself.

Of course the only way he could relate to other people is tech. If he engineered devices for his brothers and dad, maybe he could prove his usefulness and also give himself some way to talk to them without doing it wrong. 

But even then, his gifts were not often wanted or his effort accepted as well-meaning.


	3. he's such a soft shell

3\. he's such a soft shell (alternative title: the one with the egg metaphor)

* * *

He knew that they were treating him differently than they would each other. It was sometimes subtle, sometimes more direct. But always, always as if he was the delicate one. When sparring or roughhousing, the brothers would almost imperceptibly change their strategies in order to not attack Donnie with the same power or ferocity. 

Maybe they thought they were being kind.

Donnie saw it as the pity it was.

He knew, in some corner of his mind, that his brothers were not actively meaning to make him feel like the weakest link, but it definitely felt that way.

"Watch out with that around Donnie!" Leo called from the couch, as he lazily traced portals with his sword, only pausing for a moment to note the danger of a kitchen knife within any kind of proximity to Donnie's exposed shell. 

Donatello winced, fingers raising from the egg carton to brushing his shell which he had decided did not need to be covered by his battle shell for breakfast.

He instead was wearing only his hoodie, oversized and yet not large enough to hide in effectively.

His eyes darted to Mikey, who was chopping onions with tears from the onion fumes flowing freely. The knife wasn't anywhere close to stabbing his shell, and only by virtue of it being him at the kitchen counter was the knife deemed dangerous. 

"Ah. Because I am the soft shell, and am therefore in danger around any sharp object?" He inquired with false nonchalance, setting down the eggs and plucking a set to crack into a bowl. Beneath his calm exterior, he was irritated to be the one his brothers had to be careful around. He whisked the eggs together and poured them into the pan. 

"Oh, c'mon Donnie, don't be such a soft shell about being a soft shell." Leo called back, with actual nonchalance and a chuckle following his words. "I'm just trying to make sure we don't need to go get the band-aids because you were too close to breakfast."

Donatello's eyebrow twitched. "Ha." He forced out a single laugh, with bravado he did not feel. His eyes locked on the broken eggshells on the counter, the cracks webbing their way across the surface of the remaining structure of the egg now lacking anything within. He shoved the eggshells into the compost and forced his vision back to the pan, where he was less reminded of his own fragility. He pushed the eggs around the pan with the spatula a bit too roughly, glad that scrambled eggs were meant to be imperfect visually.

Instead of pursuing the previous embarrassing conversation further, which had been the only sentences even remotely directed towards him so far, he sunk into his hoodie as far as he could and made a mental note to wear his battle shell to every meal from now on. 

His gaze shifted back to the compost.

Weak things, unnecessary things, they got discarded.

_Put on another layer of armor, Donatello. Make sure you aren't replaceable._

There would be no need for his brothers to adjust their routines around the delicate one anymore.


	4. isn't he a funny guy

4\. isn't he a funny guy

He understood the concept of a joke perfectly well, thank you very much. When the situation called for humor he could be called upon for a funny comment or jibe.

What he did not understand was when he was meant to understand an insult to be a joke, and vice versa. 

There was a certain distinction between the two that for some reason, Donatello found rather impossible to distinguish consistently. 

When a verbal jab occurred about him, he had but a split second to try and understand if it had been a joke or a real proclamation of his deficiencies. When a villain did it, he was often able to understand that it did not particularly matter what they said but that it would be actually negative even if it was funny. This was easier than other situations, as he could assume that the villains were being rude or antagonistic with every sentence.

What was not as simple was interacting with his brothers, April, his dad, or non-villain yokai or humans in general. 

There was a general understanding that between brothers, especially ones as competitive as his, there would be some ribbing that was not meant to offend or hurt anyone. However, despite this general understanding, there were still many times that Donnie was affected a lot more than intended. 

"Wow, Don, sometimes I wonder if you should just marry a machine." Mikey gestured towards Donnie's lab, full to bursting with his technology, all carefully designed and crafted to his personal taste and specifications. "How are you ever going to have time for anyone else?"

Donatello felt his mind race. On one hand, It was irritating that his brother didn't seem to think his time studying and creating machines was useful or fulfilling as he saw it. On the other, this was an environment and circumstance where the brothers had felt comfortable teasing each other without malice. Also, Mikey was a compassionate soul, and probably didn't mean anything by it. 

He chose to raise an eyebrow and calculate a sarcastic reply. "Micheal, with the whole saving the human race from a war with the Yokai thing we have going on, your chief concern is my future time management in my marriage?" 

Mikey flushed and laughed. "I know your priorities, bro!"

Donnie was pleased by Mikey's positive reaction to his response, and tried to relax. Clearly this was a situation of mutual teasing. 

Mikey continued on, still laughing. "I mean really, dude. You have more in common with them than us, sometimes!"

Donnie's smile froze. Teeth ground together as an overwhelming tide of negative thoughts threatened to drown him.

He knew Mikey was joking. It was a joke. So why did he feel like this?

He wanted to continue joking around with Mikey, but suddenly found it impossible to maintain the mood. He did have more in common with a machine than his brothers. They were both largely emotionless, fragile parts of a whole that would never match up to a normal person.

His mind began supplying helpful examples of how the distance between his family and himself was vast and unable to be crossed.

He would forever be the odd one out, just because his brain worked differently. 

He wished, clawed at the vague notion of normalcy he had a taste of so immediately before this feeling of disconnect.

If he could only be just like Mikey, easy smiles and true emotional connection. Or like Raph, complete comfort with his emotions and strong familial love. Or even like Leo, who's casual love and affection came and went like the tide, always leaving to come back stronger.

He tasted metal in his mouth, and mumbled a vague excuse about circuits to Mikey before exiting the room. 


	5. what a softie

5\. what a softie

* * *

It was getting to be a lot.

This situation was the extreme result of a seemingly never-ending series of comments that were probably meant to be innocent.

In his only mirror, marred by a large crack down the side, Donnie stared at his reflection in contemplation. His hoodie helped the illusion of being like his brothers, as under the purple fabric it was difficult to tell that unlike his brothers', his shell was conclusively useless. 

A turtle's shell being soft is counterproductive to its purpose. Perhaps in nature the turtles ( _Trionychidae_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully) that he was descended from made sense, but to New York City, in the middle of a veritable war between Yokai and humans, there was no place for weakness.

That was why he had looked to upgrade himself. 

Donnie spent many hours sifting through internet sources of the best armor in the world, the best way to protect the weak and breakable.

His battle shells were useful and absolutely tactically necessary, which is why he built this next version with the same functionality in mind. Retractable arms and flight mode, as well as the purple color were mandatory, yet there is where the similarities ended. 

The new version was an amalgamation of many different armor techniques from throughout the ages, using layers upon layers of the thickest bulletproof metal. He sculpted a spiked back, from the grooves the arms would come and go- and the shell would fold carefully, splitting down the middle when flight mode was needed. In flight, it would resemble the layered wings of a ladybug. 

Only heavily armored.

Donnie worked tirelessly, day and night for a week trying to perfect his new design. When the time came for a battle, he was all-too-eager to test its capabilities.

Strapping it on and hooking the placeholding barbs into his shell with practiced ease, Donnie found that in the mirror it completely concealed his actual soft shell and made him look as though his natural shell was heavily spiked, as Raph's was. It was also darker than his skin, like Leo's and Mikey's. It hurt a bit to wear, generally putting a lot of pressure on his body to wear something so heavy and that was anchoring to his body with many hooks. The hooks were a for-now solution, given that the clasps needed to keep his other battle shells on took a few days to 3D print according to the new specifications. 

And then he received a text from Raph. 

**Hey, Donnie! It's time for the plan, get down here!**

With more confidence than usual, he met his brothers at the site they had previously determined- the Foot Clan was making a deal at a dock, and they needed to intercept what could be a piece of the armor the foot clan were so obsessed with.

Mikey greeted him with a wave, as they were trying to be quiet- Leo's eyes widened at the new shell, and nodded his approval with a sly smile. 

Raph directed them to hide close to the site of the deal- using stealth to get as close as possible without alerting the Foot Clan- and directed Leo to portal under the item being traded once it got out in the open.

Shady figures emerged to trade with the Foot Clan, and in the middle of the deal, Leo decided to make his move. The figure dropped the item in surprise, it dropped through the (for once) completely working as plan portal, and Raph snatched it from the air as they appeared. 

"Distract them, fellas! I gotta get this back to Da- uh, Master!" He began to sprint away down the dock in the opposite direction of the deal taking place. 

Leo immediately dissolved the portals away and charged at the Foot Clan to distract them from Raph. Donnie took the initiative to engage as well, swinging his bo staff at them in a wide arc while advancing to drive the group of criminals back. Mikey searched for the Recruit, who was a one-woman army and needed to be dealt with by someone who knew her fighting style. 

Fighting in this new shell was slightly slower, given the heavier nature of his new shell- and this change in a less mobile fighting style was noticed.

He had caught the attention of the smaller Foot Clan leader, who recognized the Purple one as moving differently in their other fights- which made the decision for him. 

"Target the purple one!" He rasped out angrily, as he stepped out of range of the Bo Staff. 

Immediately, some foot soldiers rushed him and dodged the Bo-Staff's swinging in multiple directions. Donnie was unable to swipe at all of them at once, which gave two soldiers a chance- they grabbed his shell. 

"Look at this, boss, it's fake!" 

"Take whatever souvenirs you want, boys. We might just have turtle soup tonight!"

Mikey shouted out angrily, "Let him go!" and tried to leap into the fray to help- swinging his whip and taking out some Foot soldiers, but getting held up by the Recruit, who melted out of the shadows and swung a powerful kick at him.

He was still too far away as the Foot Soldiers shoved Donnie to the ground and held him there roughly, hands and knees pinning him down as they got a good grip on his battle shell. They started laughing excitedly, and the sounds began to echo disorientingly around him as Donnie's panic levels rose.

He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.

"DONNIE!" Mikey shrieked desperately, but the Recruit swept his feet out from under him and he was in no position to help.

They started pulling the shell off with considerable strength and no strategy, the hooks that were keeping the shell in place piercing flesh. He grit his teeth, rasping out a quiet "Help..".

It was excruciating. His shell felt as though it had caught flame, and he choked out a hoarse yell of pain as they tore the artificial shell completely off, ripping the hooks that held it in place through the sides of his soft shell underneath. 

The foot soldier who now held his shell passed it quickly to his smaller leader, who shouted "Look like this one's a softie!" and held the shell aloft.

Leo was locked in battle with the largest Foot Clan leader and noticed too late that Donatello was in trouble. 

"Stop that!! He can't-" He swung his sword to make a portal closer to Donnie, but was interrupted by a punch from the larger Foot boss. "You can't-!"

More soldiers rushed towards Leo and Mikey, leaving Donatello momentarily not held down and simply guarded.

They weren't thinking of him as a threat anymore- big mistake, and one he was used to.

Breathing hard and shallow, Donatello's eyes flitted around him and made a split-second decision through the deep ache of his fresh wounds.

Donnie cast his hail mary by setting his Bo Staff to rocket around in a circle remotely, which spun it up in a dangerous arc, knocking the Foot clan soldiers back slightly. 

It was enough.

He braced himself on the ground and quickly pushed off and up, turning mid-air to grab onto his shell being held by the smaller Foot leader. He landed, braced a foot on the ground and stomped the other down on the leader's foot, pulling hard on his shell and just getting it free from his grasp in the shock. "I need this! Thanks!"

Donnie whirled away and activated the flight mode on the shell- the shell rose fast and Donnie grasped on with his hands, unwilling to think of the damage to his shell or to attempt to put the battle shell back on after what had happened- he lowered an open hand when he was high enough, and remotely controlled the shell with his wrist-remote. 

"Mikey, Leo, time to go!" He called out, voice rough. "Raph's far enough, we need to leave!"

Leo immediately portalled into the air beside him and grabbed hold of his hand. He gave one wild look of concern and fright to Donnie before turning towards Mikey and catching the hand thrust forward by the younger one desperately as he leapt towards them. 

They escaped the fight by hitching a ride over the water holding onto a flying turtle shell in an almost comical way, had the shell in question not been ripped off one of the turtles mere minutes before.

Donatello reflected on the fight during the almost silent ride home. Holding his brothers aloft in their escape, he felt this was the first useful thing he had done all night. 

How could he have been so stupid to use fastening techniques that could hurt him if removed forcefully?

How could he be so useless as to be downed and dominated, mocked by the enemy almost immediately?

What could he possibly be needed for, at this point? He had to face facts.

He knew fundamentally, at his core, he was the weakest. 

The one who needed to be coddled and cared for rather than treated as an equal. 

And no amount of technology could fix the fragile screw-up.


	6. donatello

+1. donatello

* * *

Donatello was feeling utterly defeated, despite the mission's success.

When they returned to the lair, it was a deafening silence from all as Mikey and Leo stared at him putting the shell down and weakly slumping against the couch, before remembering he shouldn't so he wouldn't get blood on the best couch.

He felt at his shell tiredly, wincing at every tear and rip in his useless shell caused by his own invention, cruelly torn from his body.

_I feel so stupid for allowing this to happen._

He looked up at the sound of Raph bursting in from the other room. 

"Dad says the item WAS a piece of the armor! We did i- Donnie! Are you okay?" Raph rushed to Donnie's side, looking shocked at the bad state of his brother.

"Ah.. I will be. It was probably my fault." Donnie said in response, taking his fingers away from the injuries and looking at the blood he found there with disinterest. 

"What do you mean, Don? This wasn't you." Leo chimed in, looking confused. 

Mikey approached with tears in his eyes. "Does your shell hurt?"

Donnie winced. "Yep." He stops touching his injuries. "But I don't want you guys to coddle me like you always do. I can take care of it."

"Coddling?!" Mikey yelped. "Ohmegosh, what?"

Donatello looked at him as dryly as possible under the circumstances. "Going easy on me, being super careful around my shell? I know I'm weaker naturally, you don't need to.. tell me that's not it. I know it's true." He slumped slightly forward to try and keep as little touching the injuries as possible. He can feel a bit of blood on his thigh, and looks down to see it darkening the concrete below him. 

"Donnie!"

"Don, no way-"

"What are yo-" 

His brothers start talking all at once.

Leo fixed them with a hard stare, then turned to him. "Donnie, we don't think of you as weaker than us."

Donnie smiled in spite of himself. "Sure."

"No, really! You are much stronger in a lot of ways- shells aren't everything. We just- I guess I just try to be careful around your shell because it's like, your one weakness? But th-that doesn't mean you're weak, oh, I don't know how to say it right." Leo stumbles a bit over his words.

Mikey cuts in. "No, he's got the right idea. Donnie, we're your brothers and we love you. We also know who you are and we know you're NOT weak. You have vulnerabilities like everyone does. You're really strong for fighting through all life has thrown at you, though. I'm like, really really really sorry if I ever made you feel like you were less strong or capable than us."

Donatello looks between them incredulously. "But you all constantly pull punches with me! And I-I'm not like you, I.. you even said, Mikey, I'm more like a machine. I don't know how to _do_ emotions like you do." 

Mikey starts tearing up. "No, Donnie.. I mean, I said that, but it was like.. you know, bros joking around? Obviously you're a mad dog, like the rest of us. You're our family! I.. I'm so sorry I implied that you were.. different in a bad way." He starts crying, and reaches towards him like he wants to hug his brother before realizing that's a bad idea and wrapping his arms around himself.

Raph puts a hand on Mikey's shoulder, but looks at Donnie with disbelief. "You've felt like this how long? I'm sorry, Donnie. We've gotta work on our communication. We.. I dunno how we can make this up to you. How I can make it up to you. My plan got you hurt-"

"No, my battle shell got me hurt-"

"No, the Foot Leader targeting you got you hurt! Stop playing the blame game, you guys!" Mikey interjects indignantly. 

At this point, Splinter walked into the room. "My sons- what happened? I thought the mission went well, Red?"

"I- I thought it did, but Donnie got hurt, Pops." Raph said, sounding upset. 

"Purple? Let me see." Their dad turns him gently, and calls for wet rags, which are quickly portalled into the room by Leo. 

"You boys need to make up for each other's weak points with cooperation- look at what splitting up recklessly has done." Splinter shakes his head as he begins to clean the wounds carefully.

"Yes, Master Splinter." The boys echo, and he shakes his head, but lets it go.

Donnie's brothers help their dad brace him while they wind bandages around his torso and shell, wrapping up the wounds carefully.

”Donnie.. I know this doesn’t make up for everything we’ve done, ugh, I don’t even know if that’s possible.” Raph scratches the back of his head, then stops and fixes Donnie with a hard stare. “But clearly we need to be better at treating you equally- I don’t know if we can ever be perfect, you know, but I promise to try real hard not to downplay what you do for this family.”

”For real! Where would we be without your killer inventions, I can’t count how many times you’ve gotten us out of a bad situation with them. I’m sorry we haven’t shown that to you.” Leo sighed, and patted Donatello’s knee reassuringly. 

Mikey had stopped crying by now, but looked painfully remorseful. “Donnie.. you’re our brother. We would never wanna hurt you with our dumb jokes. I..” Instead of finishing his sentence, he wraps his arms around Donnie gingerly, trying to give a hug without aggravating the wrapped injuries.

Leo and Raph joined the hug gently, and their dad wrapped them all up in his arms as best as he could. For a long moment, their family just tried to communicate without words.

Donatello had a mostly relaxed smile gracing his face, only giving a small wince at the pressure from all sides and returning the embrace gratefully.

"I only wish we had some painkillers, Purple." Splinter frowns as he noticed the expression of slight pain. "Will you be okay?"

"I just need to sleep it off and heal, I think." Donnie says truthfully, letting go of his brothers and dad slowly- they've always had a faster than human healing process, and in a few days these wounds should be fine to put a different battle shell on top of, or to clasp the same one on with the printed clasps. It still hurts, but the pain has faded into a persistent ache rather than the burning hot agony of earlier. He's already formulating a plan when Mikey clears his throat.

Donatello looks up to see his brothers a few feet away, facing him with purpose.

"We love you, Donnie!" Mikey says excitedly, then looks at Raph and Leo. 

"We love ya, bro." Raph says, looking determined.

"We love you, Donald!" Leo shoots a thumbs up towards him, giving levity to the otherwise serious situation.

Donnie gives him a rare genuine smile as he is being led to bed by Splinter. "Love you guys too." He says quietly, but he knows they hear him by their expressions.

As his dad was laying him down gently onto the bed, he pauses to say, "You are stronger than you know, Donatello. You will never be like everyone else, but that makes you unique and able to do things no one else can do. It is okay to need help along the way. I'm proud of you, my son." And Donnie felt a rush of tears to his eyes at his dad being proud of him, as well as relishing in the use of his real name for once. Splinter gave him another incredibly light and gentle hug, before leaving him to rest. 

Donnie sat in his room in silence for a long moment. The whirr of his machines helped calm him further, surrounding him in a field of rhythmic fans and quiet beeping.   
  
He looked to his hoodie, hanging on the wall, and then felt at his bandages with a sense of comfort he normally couldn’t find in his natural form.

Things weren't altogether changed- he still felt different, but he was a mutant turtle-human hybrid. He supposed that he would never feel totally normal.

His family had apologized for the 'weakling treatment' he had received, and that meant a lot to him. 

As he began to fall into the hazy relief of sleep after a tumultuous day, it was hard to call anything definite. But even with the ache and tears in his shell, he had never felt more whole, loved, and accepted.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a drabble in order to sort out how I think Donatello feels by extrapolating who he is in relation to the parts of his character that I relate to.  
> just making that very clear.  
> some might disagree, but I think his soft-shell is a pseudo disability, and his over-reliance on technology and hyperfocus seen in most episodes of the show indicate he's on the spectrum.  
> to specify: I am also on the spectrum and rely heavily on technology to maintain connection to people


End file.
